


Children's stories

by Sipho



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Kid stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:57:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3230183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sipho/pseuds/Sipho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Legolas and Tauriel are up to something again. Thranduil should tell them off, but...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Children's stories

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Tiếng Việt available: [Children's stories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3240278) by [MeggiMed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeggiMed/pseuds/MeggiMed)



« Taurieeeeel ! We’ll get cauuuught !»

Thranduil stopped in the shadows when he heard his son’s pleading voice. When Tauriel and Legolas were getting up to mischief, listening in tended to give very entertaining results.

He was not disappointed.

“Hush Legolas, you’re the one who’ll get us caught. _Wow_ , he can really see _everything_ from up here!”

Thranduil risked a look into the room, making sure the children wouldn’t spot him spying on them. Little Tauriel was sat on his throne, calm and clearly extremely pleased with herself. Legolas was standing next to her, looking around anxiously in case adults came in and saw them.

“Tauuuurieeeeel” Legolas was whispering now. “We’re not allowed in here!”

“Oh don’t be a coward, Legolas. Mmm it’s comfortable too. Hey look.”

The girl made her face as neutral and serious as possible – she didn’t have much practice at that though, and Thranduil could still see the laughter in her eyes. It would be many years before she mastered the art of masking her emotions. Hopefully.

“I am Thranduil, Elvenking of Greenwood the Great!”

Tauriel had deepened and slowed her voice in imitation of her king, carefully pronouncing his pure Sindarin (“his _outdated_ Sindarin”, his wife would say) as best she could. Her declaration rang through the empty throne room. Legolas whined. In his hiding place, Thranduil put a hand to his mouth to stop himself from snorting out loud.

“And I will have no silly elflings in here! And no Men! And certainly no DWARVES!”

For all Legolas was the prince and Tauriel the servant’s child, she certainly had the best commanding voice. For added effect, she crossed her legs, slumped dramatically against one armrest, raised her chin and tossed her hair.

Poor Legolas was still whining “Taurieeeel” and pulling at his friend’s sleeve.

Despite his amusement, Thranduil couldn’t help feeling a little affronted. That imitation could not be accurate. He didn’t slouch like that.

Did he?

*~~*

“Thranduiiiil!”

“Celebooooorn” Thranduil mocked in his cousin’s high-pitched tone and pulled his sleeve out of his grip. “Don’t worry, no one’s coming in for a while. Look, the view from here is great!”

And indeed, Menegroth’s Great Hall was splendid when one was looking down from the throne, as Thranduil was at the moment. The tree-shaped columns and the fountains made a superb perspective. And the sensation of power was almost palpable.

“He must see _everything_ from up here…”

Thranduil secretly resolved to stop pulling faces at the king when he thought he was hidden by the crowd. Had Thingol seen him every time? He wriggled on the throne.

“It’s uncomfortable though. Maybe that’s why he always sits like he has a broom up his – ”

“Thranduil!”

“Well, he does!”

“No he doesn’t, it’s because you slouch like a potato sack, and you shouldn’t be doing that, you’ll be punished! Come on, let’s go!”

Thranduil sighed. His friend had known how to have fun once, but he’d been acting _adultish_ lately. Just because he was a few decades older, Celeborn somehow thought he was grown up and responsible and right about things.

Ignoring his cousin’s annoying whispers, Thranduil straightened his back and was about to start an inspiring and kingly speech, when Celeborn squeaked and pointed at a door. In the doorframe, arms crossed and a frown on his face, was Captain Mablung.

“What do you two kids think you are doing?”

Celeborn squeaked again, and Thranduil shot up and caught his sleeve. They shouted “Run!” in unison, and were off at full speed out of the Great Hall. Mablung cursed in khuzdul, a curse he should probably not have been using in front of elflings, and ran after them into the maze of corridors that was Menegroth’s living quarters.

The elflings knew exactly where they were going, and so did Mablung. After all, it wasn’t the first time they ran from the captain. All that mattered was that they got where they had to go before he caught up to them.

Luck was on their side that day: they found their goal after a few corridors.

“Cousiiiiiiiin!”

“Cousiiiiiiin!”

The black haired elleth shouted in surprise as the two elflings ran at her, caught her dress and buried their faces into it.

“Captain Mablung is after us, cousin!”

“But we did nothing wrong, cousin!”

“We were only having fun!”

“Don’t let him catch us, cousin!”

Luthien laughed and bent down to catch the elflings in her arms.

“Of course I won’t let him, boys. You know I never do.” She winked at them.

Reassured, Thranduil relaxed and took deep breaths, recovering from his run. Then he noticed Celeborn was frowning at him.

“She’s my cousin. Not yours.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes. The more adultish Celeborn became, the less he seemed to grasp basic logic.

“She’s your cousin and you’re my cousin so she’s my cousin too.”

“She’s my cousin on the _other side_!”

“Boys, boys” Luthien was laughing “Don’t fight, I’m everyone’s cousin.”

“ _See?_ ”

Just then, Mablung turned the corner and spotted Luthien. The poor captain let out a frustrated noise, knowing he was defeated. But he was a brave soldier, so he tried nevertheless.

“My lady, those two terrors were -“

“Now, Mablung, don’t be so hard on the poor boys.”

Luthien rose up, sweetly batting her lashes at the poor captain. He persisted in his valiant effort.

“But my lady, they –“

“They are only children, Uncle Mablung” She moved in front of the elflings, walked very close to the captain, and caught his arm in hers, turning him around and away from the boys. Thranduil pulled a face behind his back, certain that the captain was well and truly thwarted for the day. Even the oldest, fiercest adults never stood a chance when the Princess of Doriath started making pretty eyes and calling them “uncle”.

“Surely you remember being a child yourself…”

“Well, technically, my lady –“

“ – You were never a child. Right. But _imagine_ , Uncle Mablung…”

“But –“

“Besides, don’t you have something more important to do? I’m going to see my mother, why don’t you come with me?”

Luthien pulled Mablung away by the arm, leading him down the corridor, covering the fact that she was forcefully pulling an unwilling subject along with sweet mindless conversation about her mother’s plans for the day. Mablung only looked back at the children once; an angry, I-will-have-vengeance-for-this look. This time it was Celeborn who stuck his tongue out.

They turned into another corridor, and the sound of their conversation – or rather of Luthien’s monologue – slowly died off.

Thranduil looked at Celeborn, caught his eye, and the two fell in a fit of giggles on the floor.

*~~*

“My Lord?”

Thranduil almost jumped out of his skin, and felt his crown wobble dangerously. He straightened it – and himself- trying as hard as he could to look like a king and not a silly elf caught grinning at memories and his son’s childishness. He was not entirely successful.

“Not. A. Word.”

“I said nothing, my lord.”

“Of course not.”

“I never do.”

“Indeed.”

He aimed his best glare at the intruder. Galion’s smile didn’t move one tiny bit.

A faint protest came from the throne room, and then Tauriel’s loud and assertive voice.

“Face it, blondie, your dad sits like a – heeeey!”

It seemed Legolas had pulled Tauriel from the throne and she had landed on the floor in front of it. Thranduil wondered if his son was still trying to avoid getting caught, or if he had decided to fight for his father’s honor. Understanding why his king had been hiding and grinning in the shadows, Galion lifted an eyebrow and switched into his usual air of mock seriousness.

“Shall I go see that the throne room is ready, my lord?”

“ _Please._ ” His advisors would be coming soon for council, and the last thing Thranduil wanted to do right now was give the children a lecture. Tauriel would argue and Legolas might even cry, and then his mother would notice and then – no.

Galion stepped through the door into the throne room.

“What are you two doing in here?”

There was a gasp from both children, and then two pairs of little feet could be heard beating on the stone, away and out of the room. After a few seconds (a headstart the children would never realize was intentional), Galion ran after them.

It suddenly struck Thranduil that two elflings should not, _could_ not have outrun Mablung of Doriath. Not as often as he and Celeborn had.

Had he, perhaps, come in for someone else, as Galion just had?

If so, who? What elf had been watching and smiling at him in the shadows?

Oropher. Thingol. Melian. Every suggestion his mind gave him was worse than the last. It was a relief when an old, stuffy sinda of a councilor – one of his father’s men that one, boring but efficient – appeared and greeted him. He forced his mind away from millennia-old embarrassments and turned it firmly to economics and logistics and supplies.

 

Perhaps, he thought as he climbed up to his throne at last, perhaps he would make time tonight to tell the children a story or two, before they went to bed. A story about two elflings and their adventures in the halls of Menegroth. Legolas would be embarrassed, Tauriel would laugh.

 

If any of his councilors noticed his smile as he sat down, they didn’t remark on it. In the doorway, Thranduil spotted Galion. His friend mouthed “mission successful”, gave a mocking formal bow, and disappeared in the corridors.


End file.
